


Loving him

by Kujaku



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-24
Updated: 2016-05-24
Packaged: 2018-06-10 12:14:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6956098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kujaku/pseuds/Kujaku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loving him was as easy as falling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Loving him

Loving him was as easy as falling. No, easier. Falling implied that there was no choice, that gravity had lured an unfortunate soul into its embrace.  
Loving him was nothing like that. Loving him was like breathing, it came without thinking. Loving him was being soaked in a thunderstorm while lightning streaked across your eyelids.   
Loving him was feeling the first petals of a rose drifting across your cheek, leaving sweet, sweet scent behind.  
And loving him was fearing every second of every day that something would break, would shatter like a castle of glass, leaving only rose-sweet smell and lightening-scratches across pale skin.  
Those were the nightmares that had kept him circling the café each time he could, making sure he could still see those russet curls, dreamy eyes and the freckles that that covered his blushing face.   
How he wanted to be the cause of such passion instead of the stars. How he wante do be the one to kiss those lips instead of the morning dew.  
Loving him was also like darkness. Loving him was like playing with fire, just waiting to get burnt. A love like this was perilous, forbidding and yet contained so much promise. 

*

How it had begun was a mystery, even to him. And not a soul would hear about it. As much as he trusted Patron-Minette to have his back when they were on a job, there were some things that could never be said. Just thinking them would cause him to shudder, especially if any of the others came too close when he was daydreaming about blue-green eyes and a timid smile. As if they could, by ridiculous and inexistant means, rip those very images from his mind. And what images they would be...  
He was no stranger to the dark side of life, and no blushing virgin either. When some money had been left over from some heist that hadn't gone wrong, or when a lovely lady had just wanted something different from her usual johns, he had let himself go. It wasn't a bad thing. He'd actually quite liked it in the heat of the moment, but it wasn't something he actively looked for unless he needed it.   
Here, he didn't need it. At least, he didn't need to evacuate stress and fear. Here, he wanted, needed, desired to be held, to stroke and to caress, to kiss and be kissed. He let no-one kiss him, never. But Jehan...Jehan was different...

A noise in the alley almost took him by surprise and he mentally cursed his wandering mind. This wasn't the moment to think about forbidden fruit, and the others would hound him horribly if he didn't do his part. And this robbery was one of the simplest things in life, just an in-and-out thing that shouldn't take more than two seconds. After all, they'd checked the area, they all knew what they had to do...  
...so when Montparnasse blinked and noticed the dead body at his feet, his knife flicked out, and his waistcoat splattered, he didn't quite understand what had happened.   
He could hear Babet hissing at him from the roof, looking for an answer, wondering what had gone over him and demanding he grab the valuables and get out of there before someone came back. So he did, stepping over the body without a second glance, and out into the street.   
They were still asking questions as the group moved into a less sensitive area, but Montparnasse wasn't responding. Finally, Babet grabbed his arm and they jerked to a stop, Claquesous hovering nearby.   
\- Are you even listening to us? What happened?   
\- I screwed up, obviously. Can we go, now? We have the stuff, we can leave.  
\- You look terrible. What the fuck, 'Parnasse?  
\- Leave off, Babet! Get shit-faced or get laid! But stop nagging me! 

Babet let go, surprised at such an outburst; Montparnasse wasn't usually so blunt, and when he did threaten, there was always a poetic, if dark, side to it. But this time, it was just that : a threat. So he let it drop and simply watched the other man walk away and disappear. Claquesous didn't say a word, as ever, and tugged on Babet's sleeve to indicate that they should leave. 

*

It was the small hours of the dawn when he found himself walking along the Seine. There was no-one to be seen, or at least they were all keeping out of his sight. He was, after all, Montparnasse.   
And he was in a terribly perplexing situation. He knew exactly why he'd been so distracted at the robbery, and that "why" was still dancing in the forefront of his mind. He growled in frustration, throwing a pebble into the dark water.  
\- This is so ridiculous... Ridiculous! I shouldn't be loosing my mind over some...some silly little thing that that!  
\- Like what, may I ask?

He turned swiftly, his knife flying to his hand, ready to jump on whoever had sneaked up behind him. Fuck, it was twice in the same night, he couldn't allow this to happen a third time. He was about to go for the throat, already seeing the splurt of blood that would soak the ground...but he froze. Even in the dim half-light, he could recognize that chaotic braid, and the horrendous necktie.   
He lowered his knife and stood, almost stunned into silence.  
\- ...Prouvaire.  
\- Yes? Surprised to see me, I imagine.  
\- That would be an understatement. What are you doing here?   
That came out more roughly that he'd intented, more an accusation than a question, and he was certain that Prouvaire would walk away and leave him. But the young man simply smiled and came closer.   
\- I followed you, of course. You come to the Musain so often, I became curious.   
\- Oh, you did, did you?  
\- Why don't you come inside next time? I'm certain you could contribute, if you wanted to.  
Montparnasse blinked. What could he possibly reply to that? The universe was having a joke at his expense, he could feel it. The very man he wanted to hold and worship was standing in front of him, looking at him with big eyes, and inviting him to join a bunch of idealistic revolutionnary students. It was a fucking joke.  
\- I'm not sure I'd contribute to much. Go home before you run into someone dangerous.   
\- More dangerous than you? 

He smiled. He couldn't help himself, it was instinctive. So this is how it was going to play out, was it.  
\- No-one is more dangerous than me. And you know that.  
\- I do.  
\- And I should believe that you would come all the way here, through danger and darkness, to invite me to your little rich boy's club?   
\- Of course not. But I had to get your attention somehow. Unless of course, I already had it and that was the true reason of your incessant skulking.  
Prouvaire was right in front of him now, his blue-green eyes clear in the early morning light, his fingers reajusting his cravat.   
Montparnasse tried to fight the urge, but then he understood that it was all part of the ritual, that his Korê had finally come to him. So he reached out and brushed Prouvaire's fingers away, straightening the hideous material.  
\- Have you a notion of proper attire, monsieur Prouvaire?   
\- Are you proposing to dress me adequately, monsieur Montparnasse?  
\- Well yes, but that would require undressing you.  
\- Yes. 

The way Prouvaire's cheeks coloured perfectly, the way his shoulders tipped and the tone of his voice, the *very* slight breathlessness that escaped those perfect lips...oh he knew very well what he wanted. And Montparnasse had to admit that it was all the better for both of them that this encounter had taken place with not a single soul around them. He had no intention of finishing his days shut away in prison for indecency. He had absolutely no doubts as to what his fate would be within those walls, even if he would never submit without a fight.   
With a small smile, the assassin took Prouvaire's hand, no resistance to be found, and pulled him into a small alleyway. It was only to be out of the way, in order to continue their discussion, but he was totally unprepared to be pushed against the wall and to have lips pressed up against his. It took a few seconds for him to blink away the mist that had fallen upon his senses, before smiling and twisting his fingers in Prouvaire's braid.  
\- Well, well, well... A bold little bird, aren't we? Even with those roses upon your cheeks, you stand there. Do you realise the risk you take?  
\- What risk? Do you think that I haven't seen you looking at me? Do you think I can't recognise a kindred soul, yearning for a gentle touch?   
A white hand came to punctuate his sentence, wiping away a drop of blood that Montparnasse hadn't scrubbed off. In fact, he hadn't cleaned himself up at all since the murder, his mind had wandered too far.   
\- What risk am I taking? Tell me.   
\- You know me. You know who I am and what I do. And yet, you are still here.  
\- Because I don't fear you. I know you. I know what you do. And I do not fear you. I do not fear the dark. I merely wish to experience it. 

 

*

Their breathing was ragged, desperate, their cravats undone, their breeches already half-unlaced. They pushed and grabbed at each-other, both of them wanting as much as they could get. For all Prouvaire's blushes and timid smiles, and gave as much as he got and it wasn't long before he slipped his hands under Montparnasse's shirt. The sharp intake of breath, the way Montparnasse clenched his hands on Prouvaire's hips...all that gave the poet encouragment to continue.   
\- You're not as distant and mysterious as you want everyone to think, Montparnasse.   
\- You think I would allow anyone to touch me this way?   
\- /I'm/ touching you.   
\- That's different.  
His voice came out in a tremor as Prouvaire's fingers once again traced circles on his skin. His erection was painful against the fabric of his trousers, and he knew at a glance that the other young man was certainly not in a better state.   
With a smile, Montparnasse once again trapped Prouvaire against the wall and cupped his crotch. The rest came so easily... A few choice moves (how could he have thought this would be complicated?) and the poet nearly sagged against Montparnasse, a shuddering sigh escaping his lips.  
That sigh needed no translation. Jehan was pushing against him, cheeks flushed and eyes bright.  
\- Don't stop, I beg you... Take me, take me here and now, I want to see the stars once more before daybreak.  
\- You're certainly a bold little Come on then, I shall make you sing as much as you want.

There was no tallow nor oil to be found in the little alley so Montparnasse had to do with the next best thing. Wetting his fingers with as much saliva as he could, he slowly reached up into Jehan, reaching as far as he could go. He had no intention of hurting the other man, pain wasn't a welcome guest in these trysts. Maybe after, if that was what they both felt they wanted and needed...but for now, all he wanted to hear simple moans of pleasure.  
Pushing his fingers further and further in, he could *feel* Jehan whimpering against him, begging him to continue, and quite perfectly shuddering around him.  
And when Montparnasse pulled his fingers out, Prouvaire jerked and moaned suddenly, louder, clear liquid seeping from his erect penis. He looked so beautiful, in such rapt abandon...how could he even have tried to resist?  
With a grunt, Montparnasse lifted Jehan off the ground and once again pinned him to the wall, maybe more brutally than he'd expected. But he wasn't thinking, not anymore. 

Jehan's hands were in Montparnasse's hair, around his neck, running across his face. And when he felt Montparnasse ram into him, he let out a cry and clutched harder at the assassin, digging his nails into skin. He could feel a sharp pain, sudden and blinding, and it disappeared as soon as it had arrived, fading into simple pleasure.   
The stars were shining behind his eyelids and he moaned and writhed faster, urging Montparnasse to move faster, faster, faster, and of course, who could possibly refuse such a beautiful invitation?  
Again and again he thrust, kissing Jehan's lips until they bled and licking the blood off, he took him further and further, closer and closer to the edge.   
Every single noise Prouvaire uttered was delicious. Every single sigh was like a shudder, every single throaty supplication would have had angels on their knees. Montparnasse was not an angel, he had no intention of being one, but his own knees were buckling under the rapture of seeing Jehan's face and hearing him breathe.   
And when Prouvaire clenched and shuddered that one last time, they both sank to the ground, exhausted, shining and still clutching at and holding each-other.

\- So little bird, did you see the stars?  
It was hard to get his breath back, and he could feel both their hearts beating like drums, fluttering like caged butterflies. And when Jehan didn't answer, he moved, leaned over and pressed a kiss to the freckled cheek.  
\- Dawn's fast approaching, you'd better fly away and rejoin your nest before the good people of Paris wake up.  
Jehan nodded and got to his feet, lacing up his trousers and reajusting his shirt and cravat; his hair had completely escaped its tie and cascaded on his shoulders, which of course forced Montparnasse to grab him and kiss him softly.   
\- Don't be a stranger?  
\- You never know...

*

Loving him was so, so easy. Stifling a yawn of contentment, Montparnasse flung an arm out of the covers and found exactly what he was looking for : a freckled shoulder, still warm from sleep. At the touch, Jehan gave a little sigh and rolled over, nestling into Montparnasse's chest.  
Here, at least, no-one would risk ever walking on into them; no-one in Patron-Minette knew about this particular secret hideout of his, and he would do everything in his power to keep it that way.  
Just to have his little bird a while longer beside him.


End file.
